


vita nova

by yourlocalbirb



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Just a oneshot for now, just a random bleeding effect ghosts fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21077192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalbirb/pseuds/yourlocalbirb
Summary: Abstergo did not understand what they had done until it was far too late.





	vita nova

Abstergo did not understand what they had done when they had created it, building off of mere scraps of unfathomable knowledge of Those Who Came Before, and when they _ did _ \- when _ it _ first happened- when they unbound the Subject and they rose, unsteady on their feet but speaking a language they’d never learned, when they looked into their eyes and asked questions and ran tests and waited and studied, when they waited and _ waited and waited _ and the Bleeding Effect **still ** _ didn’t **stop**\- _

_ by then, it was _ ** _ far_ ** _ too late. _

* * *

Clay Kaczmarek died. This is commonly acknowledged as fact by both Assassin and Templar alike. He bled himself out to leave a message, sabotaged the Animus, and then they dragged him out and tossed him into the Tiber. Even if he hadn’t been bleeding out, or Bleeding, or both, he still wouldn’t have been able to drag himself out of the river, not the way they’d trussed him up and weighed him.

But the thing was-

The thing_ was _ , that at that moment, he _ wasn’t _precisely Clay Kaczmarek anymore.

* * *

He is the third to actually survive, and he is messy and stretched far too thin, far too many ghosts in his head, but he- they, _ they _ are _ alive. _ They live again, draw ragged breath into lungs that do not belong to them and yet do, and they _ are _-

They are not perfect, more so mere fleeting impulses than reconstructed consciousnesses, half-collections of memories given sentience, the edges messy and ill-defined, ancestor Bleeding into ancestor, but they know they will not be the last. Abstergo, their ancient enemy, reborn alongside them, who they owe this new, tremulous existence- well, the Templars have never quite known when to **stop**, have they? 

So they drag themselves out of the water, and somehow, between their collective knowledge and skill, manage to patch up the body they now share, all-the-while worrying and mourning and watching over the slumbering consciousness that was their descendant whose body they wore.

* * *

He loves being alive, loves it tremendously- perhaps even more so than before Abstergo, before the Assassins. Playing host to a fathom of ghosts inside your head will do that to a person, he supposes.

Every sensation is new, and precious, the modern world holds so many wonders, and his ancestors delight in them eagerly, openly, and so- and so Clay does too.

* * *

  
  


Desmond jerks upright from the table, head pounding and bile rising in his throat, coupled with the sickening, sudden knowledge that he is no longer alone in his own head. 

_ Get out! _He snarls at the other's presence. 

It remains, cool and aloof, calm as ever. 

_ I cannot. _

He can almost see-feel the other- _ Altair _shrugging- becomes aware of the half movement of his shoulders as they move without his control-

_ They put me in here. _

* * *

"Take the wheel, Altair." Desmond sometimes jokes, which is only funny up until about the fifth time, which is when Altair actually _ does _.

Luckily for them, they'd been travelling on a straight, flat and relatively desolate stretch of highway.

His team has to spend the next 8 minutes explaining the concept of a brake pedal, in poorly pronounced, Google-translated Arabic to a bemused Levantine Mentor before they finally get him to pull over, stop the car, and get out to swap drivers- at which point they have to take another 20 to explain the concept of a _ car _, and a further 15 to satisfy Altair's demands for proof that they are, in fact, Assassins.

Desmond learns two things; one, Bleeding Effect jokes are _not_ funny, and two, he is ** _banned_ ** from driving.

* * *

Ezio, surprisingly, first makes his presence known in the back of a run-down out-of-the way little dollar store, when Desmond finds himself freezing unexpectedly mid stride in the middle of the aisle. He stares in helpless confusion at the tiny bottles of craft paint and shitty brushes as a wave of not-his nostalgic longing crashes over him. The sensation of feeling his ancestors’ emotions is, frankly, as weird and unsettling as ever, but he nonetheless welcomes the momentary relief from Haythem and Connor’s constant sniping. 

_I have missed painting._ Ezio says, softly. 

Desmond shudders, and turns the bottle he doesn’t remember picking up over in his hands idly before turning and wordlessly plunking into the cart. Shaun watches him, bewildered.

After a moment of hemming and hawing, he adds several other bottles and a pack of brushes and tiny canvases into the cart as well. 

Shaun scoffs and starts to make a comment, but trails off at the pinched look on Desmond’s face. He grimaces and then his expression softens slightly, and he nods. 


End file.
